


je vois la vie en rose

by cosmicpoet



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Drugs, Love Confessions, M/M, Poetic, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Amami and Shinguji spend their time together, getting high and having revelations about the fact that they may be in love.





	je vois la vie en rose

Shinguji holds the bong and inhales whilst Amami lights it for him, he finds beautiful intimacy in this act. Perhaps it is love – he’s yet to understand such a feeling, having studied it extensively; there’s something still missing…the lapse of human experience. But, sitting here, hotboxing Amami’s bedroom whilst intermittently holding hands, he smiles in the comfort of new knowledge.

Amami, truly, embodies humanity. At first, he had seemed moderately suspicious, mainly aloof, but Shinguji knew – and knows, now – that the front people put up is not a representation of their innermost souls. He feels close to Amami in these small pockets of time, wherein he feels neither _here_ nor _elsewhere,_ guided into another reality by a boy with soft hands and a gentle smile.

“I feel…strange,” Shinguji says, and Amami halts midway through passing him the bong.

“Bad strange?” Amami asks.

“No,” Shinguji pauses, taking the bong once more, “good. Comfortable. With you.”

“I like when you say that.”

Lying back on Amami’s bed, Shinguji lets himself drift off into the feeling of being in a small bubble, holding onto Amami’s hand as he stares at the ceiling. His eyelids, heavy with the weight of lovelorn smoke, droop to the point where he can no longer distinguish what is in his mind and what is real. But isn’t everything real once it exists in his mind? Having never outwardly expressed his love for Amami, that exists in his thoughts, but it is the realest, most tangible thing he has ever figuratively held onto.

Sinking further into this comfort, Amami’s phone rings. Although he rejects the call, saying that it’s only from his service provider and that he can call them back later, Shinguji finds himself outside of his mind once more.

“The iPhone ringtone juts me out of a perpendicular dimension wherein I exist as a float-like cotton creature and back to reality with a simple brain muscle memory ringtone that transcends mortal dimensions,” he says, “please understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Amami says, “but what?”

“Ah,” Shinguji says, “I apologise. That, perhaps, was strange to say.”

“No, no, I just…you have a beautiful mind, Shinguji. I’d like to hear more.”

“Hear more?”

 “About the little world you’ve just created. So,” Amami runs his thumb over Shinguji’s hand, still clasped within his, “tell me about these creatures you’ve dreamed up.”

“Oh. Wonderful,” Shinguji says, speaking softly in the clouded air, “I imagine these…float-like cotton creatures…are close to dandelion seeds in the wind. And…in my mind, my imagination, they float when it’s light and airy outside; in mornings, I think, they cluster together more, sometimes sticking to one another in the soft morning dew. I believe they must have to wait until the midday sunshine to dry off and bounce around once more. In their hearts, there exists a constant summer – beautiful, happy creatures, they are. Their lives, being twenty-four human generations, are spent floating alongside the wind, blowing against rays of sunshine to direct them towards people overcome by sadness so that they may gain happiness. And…after such generations have passed, these creatures are bottled up and sprayed into mist to assimilate into the clouds and become rainwater, which will fall onto the dandelions, where the young exist. Float-like cotton creatures grow by latching onto dandelions and rejuvenating themselves on the pollen, so their ancestors pass down their reincarnation through rainfall.”

“Woah,” Amami says, “you just…thought of that?”

“Ah, yes,” Shinguji says, “my mind tends to take me to the strangest of places. I apologise.”

“Don’t apologise, Shinguji. You speak so beautifully. I’d love to adventure into your mind.”

“I think…although that may be physically impossible, you have reached the closest to true understanding of me that anyone has. And I have faith in the efforts you take. Truly, Amami.”

“Thank you.”

“I do not want this moment to end.”

“Me neither,” Amami says, “so why don’t we stay here forever? Just you and I, and this bed, and the infinity of our minds – there’s all the adventure in the world just packed into thought, you know?”

“I would like that. I think the mortal constraints of time are against us, but if anyone can overcome infinity, it is us, my dear.”

“You, Shinguji, are a book that cannot be read. You are everything without a final page; I believe you were born to drift along the river banks of infinity.”

“And you, Amami, you are a dream come to life. I believe…I haven’t said this with enough severity that it deserves, but I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The softness of the bedroom becomes illuminated in silence and the fading light from streetlamps outside, perhaps an ethereal sunset, un-viewed and untainted by human eyes. Shinguji’s belief in humanity only grows gentler in the presence of Amami; all flowers must bloom, but not all must die, he believes, and the peak of this, right here, does not herald any disaster in their future. And if the universe is cruel, they may try to fight it, or they may accept that what happens to one of them happens to the other – intrinsically intertwined by fate and love.

Once more, the creatures of his mind dance when Shinguji closes his eyes; beckoning him into the sunshine of a perpendicular dimension. Milk-white and weightless, they fall onto his body and allow him to become the scenery, but he must return to reality from this dreamlike state. Feeling Amami’s hand within his own, he blows gentle breezes from between his lips and casts away the imagery of his mind, focusing instead on the warmth of a lover, and the thick smoke of a flawed room with flawed individuals in perfect love.

He falls again into reality, turning his head slightly to see the softness of Amami, laying with his eyes closed – the gentle smoothness of his cheeks becomes heightened by the light leaks, and when he sighs, Shinguji feels his body relax into comfort. Ah, to be comfortable.

Perhaps, now, Shinguji knows that well enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my tweet "the iphone ringtone juts me out of a perpendicular dimension wherein i exist as a float-like cotton creature and back to reality with a simple brain muscle memory ringtone that transcends mortal dimensions. please understand".
> 
> I imagine the creatures to look like the little soot sprites from Spirited Away but milk-white, and mixed with dandelion seeds when they get taken by the wind. I just love this idea.
> 
> Anyway, please comment if you liked this! It's my first time writing for this pairing!
> 
> Title from 'La Vie En Rose' by Edith Piaf


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